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The Search

     Leave, leave, thy gadding thoughts;
               Who Pores
               and spies
          Still out of Doores,
               descries
          Within them nought.

          The skinne, and shell of things
               Though faire,
               are not
          Thy wish, nor pray’r,
               but got
          By meer Despair
               of wings.

          To rack old Elements,
               or Dust
               and say
          Sure here he must
               needs stay,
          Is not the way,
               nor just.
Search well another world; who studies this,
Travels in Clouds, seeks Manna, where none is.

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